


I am The Commander

by jensening



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Baby Lexa, But I've had this on my shelf for so long IDK when I will, Clarke/Lexa Eventually, Costia and Lexa are in love, Death, F/F, Had planned to add another chapter on Clarke and Lexa, Lexa pre-Clarke, Love, Love is Weakness, Sadness, The story of Lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 12:50:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10163399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jensening/pseuds/jensening
Summary: Love is weakness.Lexa had always been careful of her feelings, but falling for Costia had been all too easy. That was never the problem - she trained, she fought, she lived, she loved. She dreamed. All within her realms.And then she became The Commander, and the game changed altogether.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING: CONTAINS THE DEATH OF COSTIA AND A DESCRIPTION OF HER BODY.**
> 
> Hey! I've been AFK for a long time. I still am, really. Haven't the time to write with all my coursework, and steadily approaching exams. I havent even had the time to play Zelda - I will admit I'm amazed I've managed to restrain myself.
> 
> Anyway! This is about Lexa from the moment she is made The Commander. It's quite an old one of mine and it's been sat on my shelf for more than a year. I'd always planned to do a follow-up chapter about Clarke and Lexa, but as of yet I haven't gotten around to it. I decided I wanted this published, despite that. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! I'd really appreciate any kudos, comments, bookmarks, whatever you feel is appropriate to give me. Keeps me going in stressful times like these! :)

In nine simple words, _Leksa kom Trikru’s_ life is forever changed.  
  
"You are strong." Titus tells her, loud and confident against her ringing ears. "You will be the next Commander."  
  
And then she is met with the deafening silence.  
  
Sudden and sharp - the words fall on her like the slap of cold water poured over her head. Sudden and sharp - and Lexa feels each one like the hard cold hit of rain against her skin. Fiercely they slice through her; they echo with a deeper sense of a purpose and a foreboding that freezes her shaking bones. Lexa stands in the throne room with an aging confidence, her feet planted at the bottom of the three little steps that lead up to the throne: a throne decorated with wood and antlers and leather and fur.  
  
A throne that would soon belong to her.  
  
The crowd is laid before her, every man, woman and child's eyes trained on her face. Each is still in the silence of Titus' proclamation. Lexa, too, only stands there. She wonders if she looks small – small, and seemingly just a girl. It is what she feels like, with those words, that sentence, the finality and confidence of which Titus spoke. And next to her he towers, above and before her with a singular hand held out flat in front of him. As if he is gifting Lexa, sitting in his hand – wriggling and squirming and writhing - is The Spirit of the Commander, and it twitches at Lexa as if begging already to be a part of her.  
  
It has reacted to her.  
  
She has beat out the other _natblida._  
  
Costia had told her she would, and Lexa had believed her if with only a minute amount of doubt. Because Costia always believes in her. "What you can achieve," she always says "it is more than many can even dream of."  
  
Being the Commander means she can bring change. But that she is ready to bring this change and that Polis is ready to accept this change – she does not know, she does not know, and instead the insecurities burn and fester like open wounds.  
  
But now she is the Commander.  
  
She is made for more than doubt. She is made for action.  
  
And yet Lexa can only stare at them, these people. Stare at them all. Gaze at them without even truly seeing as around her they fall to their knees like dominos, and kneel before her like weary worn-down subjects. Bowing with what Lexa _knows_ is respect – earned or enforced, Lexa doesn't know, not yet. But looking upon the crowd now all she sees are the faces of children, of men, of women, of warriors and traders. She sees the faces of her competition and fellow _natblida,_ those who had lived and breathed and died to be where Lexa now shakily stands, inches from Heda's throne.  
  
They were made to die; it was an unmovable truth. They had to die. Lexa knew that, understood it, clutched to it like it was ice melting in her hands. She did not care for them. They were too weak to rule; they would have made bad leaders. And yet she mourns them like brother and sister even as, outside, her eyes simply sweep over the crowd with a cool evanescence and the timid presence of a leader. Her chest is heaving inside of her. She sees her people's eyes staring at the ground. None dare to look up at her now - now that she is the Commander. Their heads are tucked to their knees as if they meant to bang them against the floor in a bloody mess.  
  
_You will be the next Commander._  
  
Lexa's hands sit tightly cupped in front of her, sweating with the inconceivable sense of duty and honour that has been pushed - forced - _given -_ to her. It's heavy - as if she lies crushed beneath the bodies of those who reigned before her.  
  
The crowd begins to chant: _"Heda! Heda! Heda!"_ quietly at first and then all at once, as if daring her to admit to them what she is. She looks at these people – _her_ people – kneeling for her out of respect and what she hopes is love, and slowly her head falls into a nod. Because these people look to her now when but a moment ago she was simply a stranger: a girl to many, a warrior to most, a lover to one, and a friend to few. And now she is the leader of all.  
  
Lexa closes her eyes, takes one deep breath to collect her thoughts. When she lifts her lids it is as if the world is born again in a moment of opaque tranquillity, breathless and longing, and it stirs something dark and sweet deep within her chest that leaves her throat burning. And with her people heavy in her heart, and a new world laid before her, Lexa takes her first step into the new era: steadily she raises her hand amongst the chants, holds it high and straight next to her head, and gives her first words as their new Commander.  
  
" _Ai laik Heda._ And you will rise for me."  
  
She searches within the crowd without knowing; when she meets Costia's proud, glistening eyes and soft smile in the silence of the open room, Lexa feels as if she can finally breathe again.

* * *

 

“Love is weakness.”

Titus has taught her many lessons so far in her weeks as the Commander. Lexa enjoys them, listens to them, absorbs them with every bit of interest and enthusiasm she can muster, for these lessons will help her people and that is all Lexa has wanted to do since she discovered her nightblood. Many of these lessons he repeats to her, whispers in her ear as she sits amongst her people and they look to her for guidance. But today, in her room and alone with Titus, she is given a lesson that has not been uttered before, and it is one she does not wish to hear.

_Love is weakness._

Lexa looks at him with an undetermined gaze, curious and confused, and says: “I do not believe that. If I am to achieve peace, to achieve the coalition Costia and I have dreamed of –“

“Costia is _weakness,_ Heda. Peace will be difficult to achieve but I believe it can be done. Lexa, you must listen to me: Costia will cloud your judgement, she makes you weak at a time you need _absolute_ strength.”

“Costia _gives me my strength.”_ The Commander returns fiercely, her eyes sharpen to a glare and her mouth turns down in displeasure. Indignantly she stares into his eyes and lets the anger boil and fester in her chest. “And you will remember your place, Titus, or I swear I will remind you of it.”

“And _you_ will remember you are a _new_ Commander, you are not yet better than my help –“

Quickly Lexa holds up her hand, and Titus falls silent.

But still his words ring in her head.

_Love is weakness._

They stare at each other, unmoving. The silence rips their skin as if daring them to provoke the other to look away or, better yet, to express their true feelings. _Never give away your thoughts, Heda. Your emotions can exploit you._

Endlessly the time ticks by, until at last Lexa watches Titus’ eyes fall from her face; his anger swallowed like sickly medicine. His shoulders rise, his back straightens, his face grows steely.

“My apologies, Heda.” He says, and bows with the slight tilt of his head. “I meant no disrespect. You have a remarkable vision for our people and I hope to see you achieve it. I simply wish you could see that you are putting yourself and Costia in danger, and your wish of peace in danger.”

_Love is weakness._

Lexa stands up a little straighter and shuffles on her feet. She knows Titus can see her weaknesses, and still she will try to hide them from him. “You mean well, Titus. And you are wise. But what I am trying to achieve breaks the boundaries of what those before me have done. Perhaps we must adapt to it.”

 “Perhaps, Commander.” Titus replies, submitting to her stubborn nature. Respectfully but stiffly he bows to his Heda. He has nothing more to say that will not anger Lexa further, they both know this. And so, turning on his heels, swiftly he walks from the room.

Still it churns in her mind.

_Love is weakness._

And Lexa feels weak.

* * *

 

Lexa has learnt many lessons as a nightblood: she has learnt of their proud history, culture, and more importantly how to fight. But even all that Lexa has learnt as a nightblood could not compare to the challenge of being in command. It will be difficult to unite the clans, Lexa knows this. But still she will try for it, as she always will. Bloodshed between her own people will solve nothing; how can they defend against the Mountain when they are constantly fighting themselves like children? They will be better off in agreement. In unity.

_Love is weakness._

“Have you had a hard day, _Ai Hodnes_?” Costia asks lost eyes; a finger trailed gently down Lexa’s arm as they lay next to each other, naked, in the bed, separate but entwined amongst each other.

“There is a lesson that Titus is teaching me. I cannot properly grasp it.”

“Titus taught the last three Commanders and they ruled with pride, justice and honour. You know he’s wise, Lexa. You should listen to him and follow him.”

Lexa hums in response.

 _Love is weakness._ Titus says to her, time and time again. _The path of the Commander is destined to be a lone one._

Titus _is_ wise, and Lexa _does_ know this. But how can she follow such a lesson? How can she even believe in it, when she is filled with such love and affection for a woman who would bleed and die for her?

Lexa simply _cannot_ believe it. She has Costia, and by the will of all those before her, she will protect that which she loves. _That_ is strength, not weakness. _That_ will help her, not hinder.

But still, Titus rings in her head like an alarm.

_Love is weakness._

Lexa pulls herself from Costia only a fraction, separating skin from skin and heat from heat, but still laying close enough that she can hear each even, calm breath from her lover’s mouth.

“Do you think I can truly achieve peace?” Lexa asks after some time, and Costia smiles at her so brightly Lexa thinks for a moment that everything is going to be okay.

“I know you can.” Costia says. She shuffles back over to Lexa and kisses her softly on the neck, and Lexa smiles and tilts her head up just that little bit more. “I know you are worried,” she says, a finger tracing the delicacy of Lexa’s face, “and I know that it will not be easy for you to unite us. But I have never been more certain of anyone. You were made to do this, My Love.”

Lexa looks at her. It so gentle. She worries she could break, being so gentle, so small, so vulnerable. “ _Ai hod yu in_.” Lexa whispers, and reaches out to touch her. She trails her hand across Costia’s waist, down to her back, and then pulls her in close. “You are my strength.”

“And you are mine.”

When they kiss it is just as gentle. But Lexa doesn’t feel vulnerable, kissing Costia. She realises it all at once - at the way Costia bites Lexa’s bottom lip and plays with her hair – that being gentle does not mean she is not strong. She feels safe in a way she has never felt before, and wonders if she will again.

 _Love is weakness_ , Titus still tells her. Lexa still hears it.

* * *

 

“All is going as planned, Heda. The call for a coalition has already caused clans to commit to you. _Trigedakru, Floudonkru, Podakru_ , and _Trishana_ have answered the call. Others yet have not, but I know that they soon will.”

“And what of Azgeda?” Lexa asks, sat proudly on her throne. Her back lies straight, her eyes focused. She sits loosely but carefully – to look too stiff would be to seem weak, and yet to sit too lazily would also seem weak.

“They –“ Titus hesitates next to her. “You know what they have said, Heda.”

“They said ‘no’. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And whilst Trigedakru, Floudonkru, Podakru and Trishana have sent representatives to personally give me their decision, Azgeda sent only a messenger bird. Is that also correct?”

“It is, Heda.”

Lexa does not look at him. She keeps her eyes forward, always. Even alone she must not break character, she knows this. Titus has not told her but she _knows_ it, just as she knows the sky is blue and Costia is beautiful.

“What do you make of this, _Fleimkepa_?”

Titus does not answer at first. He shuffles on his feet, wipes at his hands. Lexa is glad to have made him nervous, for in truth she is nervous as well. It is clear what such an act means. She does not want to be the one to acknowledge it aloud.

“I believe it means that they will not join the coalition without pressing them.”

 _Pressing them_. Titus is a man who says what he means, and yet here he does not. Lexa does not take it as a good sign.

“And?”

“And,“ Titus says louder, still hesitant. “that they do not respect you enough to come and tell you in person, as is proper.”

“Indeed, Titus.” Lexa finally looks at him. “And so we shall ‘press them’. Send another representative. Send Gustus – one of our best warriors. Perhaps then they will feel more inclined to reconsider.”

“It shall be done.” Titus bows to her with the slight dip of his head. “You are wise, Heda.”

“Let’s hope the Ice Nation is wise as well.”

“Yes,” Titus says. His lips are tight and his expression is grim. “Let us hope.”

**

When she meets them all for the first time, Lexa is guarded. They are all so young, as she was. They have the same hopeful eyes and hopeful spirits that soon will be shifted and moulded to fit what the Commander must be. She does not know what to make of them. She looks at them and their small hands and big hearts and almost sees herself reflected back, a tiny warrior with huge ideas. They are all stood in a single file line, spread out in front of her. They stare at her and she stares back.

“Heda,” Titus says, his cloak sweeping behind him as he gestures to the nightblood. “These are the new natblida we have collected.”

They all bow to her in one fluid motion and Lexa will not deny that she is impressed with them. When she was a nightblood meeting the Commander for the first time, her fellow initiates and she had been alive with excitement. Their greeting was a stumble compared to this, though Titus had given strict instructions and they had been younger than this group.

“Welcome,” Lexa begins, her voice a wave of confidence, warm and thrilling. She keeps her hands cupped in front of her, her stance solid and sure, and her back straight. “I know many of you have already been training as warriors before you were brought before me. Know now that you will be trained and exercised by my best warriors, and by myself as well.”

None have weapons at their sides, Titus will have taken them before they were to meet Lexa. They are warriors one and all, underprepared and under-experienced, yes, but ultimately they will all become the people they need to be, and the people they want to be, and the people they never thought they would be – and then all of them will be dead, except for one.

The eyes that look at her are intent and brimmed with a brazen confidence, but Lexa knows better. She stood there just as they did, she knows the feelings of worry and angst.

When she stood where they now stand, the Commander was not on the brink of war. Lexa is at the edge, looking down at the jump, but she has not yet fallen. She wonders if the nightblood are aware of how quickly they could be called to succeed her. She does not want to die, not yet. She is not ready to leave with her work so unfinished, barely begun, and with Costia still next to her, the two of them so young.

Lexa is trying to build a coalition. An end to the on-and-off battles between clans, and a society that benefits from each other. That is what she wants. In doing so she could instead spark war, and everything she knows could be put in danger. These nightblood are barely ready to fight in war – not that she would have them do so – let alone are they ready to succeed her.

And so war must not happen, and she must not die. Not yet.

“When my time as the Commander has passed, the Flame will choose one of you to succeed me.” Her voice is still confident but now she can hear it – feel it, even – this sensation. A dark, underlying hum of something bitter-tasting, lodged in her throat. She wonders if the nightblood can hear it too. “And so you are welcomed to the Tower of Polis, where you will live and learn until that day should come. Each of you has been given a great honour. The training will be hard, and at times it will feel long, but each of you must remember that you have been chosen. You are worthy of this honour; you are worthy of your nightblood.”

They say nothing, nor does Titus. They look at her and she looks back. She sees their hope and she wants it for herself.

Lexa dismisses them and Titus says he will take them to their rooms. They look at her and she looks back, and slowly they gather to be taken away to their new lives. One child stays in front of her, hands behind his back, shoulders straight. Lexa almost smiles at him.

“ _Mochof, Heda.”_ He says, bowing his head. “I will make you proud.”

“You must make yourself proud, first.” Lexa replies. “What is your name?”

The other nightblood are with Titus, gathered around and listening to him as he spells out the rules of Polis, and how to treat their rooms. This nightblood stands confident in front the Commander whilst the others do as their told, and Lexa is curious about him. He is young – only ten summers or so – and Lexa can already recognise herself in him.

“I am Aden.” He says. His face is neutral. “I am excited to train with you.”

Lexa knows he is trying so hard. So hard to keep calm, to quell his nerves and sit still, and yet he approached her. A brave one, Lexa thinks, and one who will clearly stand out from the others. He already has.

And so, despite herself, she kneels in front of him and meets him eye for eye, height for height. And she smiles, however mildly. “Well, Aden, I must confess that I, too, look forward to training with you.”

He tries to contain it. He almost succeeds but Lexa’s eyes are fast – his excitement, escaped suddenly like air from a balloon, wipes across his face and tricks him into smiling back, though it is gone in a single second.

She sees the potential in him. She does not want it wasted so soon, crushed by blood and war and a burden that has come too fast and too soon. She sees the chance he has of succeeding her, the chance she has at wanting him to.

_Love is weakness._

Lexa stands up again, and looks down at him.

“Go now,” she says, “follow Titus and find your room.”

And he goes with a bow, the other nightblood chatting excitedly with him about the Commander as Titus guides them from the room.

There is so much hope in them, she knows. Costia would look at them and want to hug them all, and then she would pick up a sword and fight them with a snarl and a laugh and she would try to adopted them as if they were orphaned. Perhaps sometime soon they will be.

And yet Lexa has hope, just as they do. It may not be as bright or as obvious as theirs, but it’s there. A shimmer in the darkness.

That’s the trouble with hope: despite the years of experience she has on them, it will always be just as naive.

_Love is weakness._

* * *

 

“You once told me that a man can find his strength not only in his sword, but in his words.” 

Costia is not looking at Lexa, but out to the sky where the stars lay swept before them. The moon – only a crescent – stands bright and powerful amongst them all. Lexa loves the moon; she finds solace it in, and understanding, but sometimes she cannot help but look up and be filled only with sorrow.

“I did.” Costia says, arms stretched out on the balcony. Stargazing is her favourite past-time. Lexa has fallen in love with it, too, since falling in love with her. “You’re one of the most skilled warriors we have, Lexa, but you were awfully arrogant about it when we first met. You believed there was no greater honour than that of a fight – and this is true, a lot of the time. It is our culture. But your arrogance made you seek fights when they were not necessary, even as a small child, even before you were training to become the Commander.

“You tried to fight Anya – do you remember? You taunted her. _Joken branwoda,_ you said. And then you got your ass kicked.”

Costia laughs bright and cheerfully and Lexa can only blush and stare at her. She smiles widely and takes a moment to watch Costia so light, and then she looks back to the stars, and to the moon, that are always waiting. “I was a fool.”

“You were.” Costia replies once her laughter dies away. “But you were my fool.”

Their eyes meet again. Costia’s eyes are big and brown like a beautiful, strong mare, and her hair falls around her in purposefully wild curls. Lexa wants to protect her. She can feel herself breaking, the cracks forming in her skin.

_Love is weakness._

“You are aware that Azgeda refused Gustus. You know what this means.”

“I do, Ai Hodnes. I know.”

“Do you believe there are words now?”

Costia grabs Lexa’s hand, which lies cold on the balcony, and holds it in her warm one. “No, Lexa, I don’t. We are people of blood and war, and we are more than that, but we are people of blood and war. And Azgeda are hardened people, cold with words. What words there were you have already spoken.”

And Lexa nods. It feels erratic.

“I have ten clans on my side.” She begins. The wide open space lies in front of her. Beneath her, the city is alight with life and security and, above her, the sky is dark and filled with sparks.  “Most were surprisingly willing to join the coalition. Only Azgeda and _Ingranronakru_ are left. The Plain Riders are unaligned, but Azgeda is against us. I think Ingranrona will join once we are at war. They will not risk the wrath of the ten clans as they do not have the resources or the men. But Azgeda do. And they will fight us with all that they can bleed _._ And we will bleed too.”

They stand in silence. It is hot and humid, heavy with words Lexa does not say but knows are heard. And Costia decides to acknowledge it out-loud.

“You will not lose me –“

But suddenly Lexa bursts. “I will not _let_ myself lose you!” she says, throwing the words into an unhearing sky. “I will not _let_ you be lost. _Azplana_ can face me with all that she has but never will she have you.” Her eyes are fierce and filled with promise. She speaks again, calmer. Quieter. “She will not have you.”

“She will not have me,” Costia repeats, confident. She tightens her grip on Lexa’s hand and pulls her close. She looks so determined to live, to fight, to breathe - her voice is so sad. “But she will not have you in the process.”

Lips meet in a simmering kiss. It threatens to boil over every passing moment, aware of the war, the risks, the death, the pain, the laughter and the hope. It is perhaps the softest kiss they have shared. It’s warm. It’s safe. It’s a threat. Lexa feels it building in her chest – a fuzzy, quiet feeling, suddenly streaked with worries of cold white pain.

When they part Lexa is left with nothing but the worry.

She finds it echoing in her mind.

_Love is weakness._

* * *

 

Lexa can almost hear it - the horses of war, blazing and black, fast approaching. She can feel the thumping beneath her feet, the galloping of death and eagerness. Her hands scrape across her balcony as she stares at it all, the world of green. 

The city shines before her but she looks past it as if it is nothing, as if she is not doing this for her people, and then she ventures further still: past the wide open-fields and to the forest. She almost expects the horses to emerge in a surge of fury, burning down the trees.

She keeps waiting. She is unable to sit still, constantly running plans and worries and premonitions through her head as if they will calm her nervous feet and sate her worried mind, but they only make it worse.

“Aden is here to see you, Heda.”

Lexa pries her hands from her balcony and enters her room again. Gustus stands before her, large and burly; confidence seeps from him. 

“Thank you, Gustus. Send him in.”

Gustus bows with a nod of his head and turns to leave. Lexa watches him go. Her gut seethes, questions and worries materialising themselves before her eyes. She cannot stop herself –

“You leave for the battlegrounds today, Gustus?”

Gustus turns around. He does not seem shocked to have been addressed again. He has known Lexa since she was a child, he has known her almost as long as Anya. He knows her all too well.

“Yes,” Gustus replies, a hand on the hilt of his sword. “I will get everything ready for your arrival, Heda. Anya escorts your convoy?”

“Indeed. We make our way to you in two days.”

Neither of them move. They both already know this information; it has been discussed many times before. And yet Lexa had to hear it again as if it would somehow change what must happen. She is not afraid of war; it is what she was raised on, what she is good at. But something is ripping at her slowly, taking skin layer by layer. All warriors are worried, but they are equally strong and equally courageous and Lexa is no different, though sometimes she feels she is. Nor is Gustus, who stares at her hard and long as if trying to find something in her reflected back at him.

And then at last he takes a strong step forward towards Lexa. He moves his hand from his sword and his face is a comforting grimace. “ _Oso nou dula op gon oso lukot_.” He says, just as confident as ever. “You must push away your doubts, Lexa. Peace cannot exist without struggle.”

“As you have always told me.” Lexa replies noncommittedly, and she turns away from him stiffly. “Send Aden in.”

Gustus moves swiftly to the exit, recognising the end of the conversation. Just before he leaves he scrambles to reassure her, and yet it only leaves her in pain.

“You have my sword.” He says, and his eyes are so strong.

It does not help her, still she can feel it coming. The call for war and blood hangs tangible in the air, a foul smell Lexa breathes in deeply as if it will sate her nerves when he could not. It cannot be forgotten, and Lexa does not want to forget, but still a part of her scream for peace –

Peace can only be achieved through struggle, she reminds herself. _War is the path to peace_.

“Heda.”

Behind her, Aden’s distinctly young yet respectful voice calls out to her, and she turns to face him immediately.

“Aden.” She says, almost as if she was caught unaware. “How are you?”

“Worried,” he replies, more bluntly than she thought he could be. “The nightblood have been talking. They say you leave for battle soon.”

Lexa feels as if she has been struck.

She does not want to leave the natblida; how worried they must be of what could happen. They are still so underprepared. If any could truly succeed her now and stand a chance it would be Aden, and, selfishly, she does not want him to suffer it yet.

_Love is weakness._

“I do, Aden. It’s true. Come Thursday I leave to meet the army that awaits me, and you will receive training solely from Titus for a while.”

“Oh.” It’s as if Aden was not expecting the answer but Lexa knows that he already knew. “I – forgive me if I am being inappropriate, Heda, but I – I will miss you.”

“I will return.” Lexa replies, and tries not to let her emotions take her entirely. Reservation latches itself to her.

“And Costia?”

She wills it almost as much as she wishes it.

“She will return.”

Aden nods and even smiles but still he does not seem satisfied, shuffling on his feet. “I expect to see how brilliant you have become at the spear when I return.” She says, and she smiles, her mouth bitter with love. She reaches a heavy hand up and rests it on his shoulder, and he looks up at her as if she put the sun in the sky.

Aden grins at her so brightly. Lexa _will_ return to him, and to the others, and she will make sure Costia returns too.

“You know I am awful with a spear.” He says, smiling but ashamed.

“Not awful.” But suddenly her smile is wider. “Simply unpractised.”

“I’ll never be as good as you or Costia.”

“No one is as good with a spear as Costia, Aden, don’t be ridiculous.” Aden laughs and grins at her and Lexa know he feels better. Her chest aches for him.

“Even you?” he asks her, as if amazed someone could surpass her.

Costia is gifted with a spear. If Lexa and her were to fight with spears the match would be close – if they were to fight with swords, Lexa would easily win. Costia is a fierce fighter, brutal to her enemies. That is the difference between the two of them. Costia does not hesitate when killing her enemies; the colours are simple to her – black and white, good and bad. And Lexa never hesitates, either, but –

She always remembers.

_Love is weakness._

“Well, don’t tell her I told you. But she has trained with it longer than I have, and she had a natural affinity for it as a child that I simply did not have.”

And Aden seems amazed: “Wow.”

Aden has always adored Costia. Costia has always adored Aden. When Aden looks at her now she sees the stars in his eyes and the love in his heart, and she’s desperate to stop seeing it all. He’s a distraction that reminds her only of what could be, and she has no room for hope when war demands logic and strength.

But she looks at him now and she knows there are stars in her eyes, too, and never has she felt so happy to be in such pain.

* * *

 

"I would like to thank all of you for bringing your warriors here so quickly. 

Lexa stands at the head of the war table in the Commander's tent, and next to her Titus looms as reliably as ever. Her face scans the leaders that stand all around the table: the strong men and woman that will lead their troops to battle in the name of peace, and in the name of the coalition, are as stoic as ever. It is only Costia, who stands the other side of her, who gives her comfort. She stands so strong and proud and straight, and Lexa cannot help but draw some of that energy from her to bolster her own confidence.

_Love is weakness._

"Some of us come less prepared, Heda. We arrive here reluctantly, not with soft hearts at the foolish idea of peace. Azgeda knows no peace, and my clan knows not what it is like to live in a world without struggle. Azgeda all but _stole_ our resources, and they tried to take my best men! I am doing what I must, nothing more."

It is Seren, leader of the Plain Riders, who speaks. Lexa's eyes snap to him immediately. He's a large, burly man. His beard is short and his hair black, tied up high into a ponytail. Tall and poised he stands; his large arms are crossed in front of him as if he's brandishing them like weapons, and they are littered with tattoos. Lexa has spoken to him little but enough to know that, like all leaders, his pride for his clan borders on arrogance.

Lexa already knows his clan is not here by choice; they were made to join the coalition after being provoked by the Ice Nation who demanded the Plain Riders' warriors and supplies. They do not have enough men or enough supplies to stand alone, and so here they now stand. It is the same with Trikru, Sankru, Boudalankru. None have very strong armies, but what they lack in men they make up for in skill.

"I am aware of your situation, Seren." Lexa begins. She sees Costia shuffle next to her. "You will also be aware that I accepted you out of my own will and as such I can dismiss you just as easily to bleed and _die_ for a failing cause under the banner of Azgeda - rather than be united with the ten clans and fight under the banner of your own people." Her hand finds the hilt of her weapon without her even realising it, but those in the room all take immediate notice. Something shifts in the air. It feels harder to breathe and yet easier, the leaders around her stand taller and yet smaller. Costia seems to have moved closer than before. "Should you decide to toss your arrogance aside you will be greeted with the resources you lost, and after the war is over we all shall see the benefits of the coalition by sharing our supplies with each other."

Seren says nothing.

Lexa stands perfectly still. She stares at him: she stares and she stares and she stares as long as she can and then longer - and hopes that instead Seren will break it. It is another game of leadership that she does not want to play. But she knows that she must.

_The Commander must always be in control. Use your emotions like weapons, Heda, and trust no one._

She knows that no one can tell - well, she hopes at least - that beneath the armour and the stance, the voice and the title she has, she is nervous. She knows that Costia can tell because Costia can always tell, and perhaps Titus is aware as well. She must learn to deceive people better, she knows. It is hard that the people who know her know her all too well.

Lexa has fought and bled and won many, many battles before this, but never has she fought as Heda. Never has she been the one that all others look to - the one who is given all the options by those beneath her, and the one who must then make a decision on what will work best. She is not particularly nervous about fighting for she knows more than anything that she can fight, and fight well, but rather she is nervous that these clans will not follow her. That she puts trust in them when they do not put trust in her.

_Love is weakness._

Eventually Seren does break contact. He looks down to the table where the map lays spread out in front of them.

Titus breaks the silence. "And so we must decide," he says, voice raspy. "Now that we have eleven clans united under a single cause, this battle should in theory be quick. But some of you have little men -" he does not look to Seren, though Lexa knows that everybody thinks of him, "and Azgeda is strong. This will be a difficult war. Azgeda is good at manipulation and guerrilla warfare. We must be prepared."

"I propose scouts, Heda." It is Indra, the leader of Trigedakru, who speaks. Lexa trusts her more than any other leader at this table. She was Lexa's clan leader, and never does one simply forget that - nor will Lexa forget the kindness Indra has shown her through the years. Trikru is very good at hitting people fast and quick and catching them unaware; they are all highly skilled, even if they lack number.

"Scouts?" The Desert Clan. "No! We need no scouts - we should hit them fast and hard when they least suspect, continually narrow their numbers!"

Seren scoffs. "Like a coward would! We fight them properly, on the battlefield!"

"We should fight in the forest - use the trees!"

"In the open field!"

The voices build and build, warp and fight each other until they are one booming noise that builds to a cacophony – it fails to achieve anything. It is the voice of failure. Lexa does not like dealing with leaders; they fight like children. Worse - children respect elders, and leaders only respect themselves.

But when Lexa holds up her hand the world falls silent.

"Indra," she says and she looks at her with undetermined eyes. "You said you propose scouts."

"Yes, Heda. Scouts allow us to scope enemy numbers. Since we do not know quite the size of Azgeda's army it would be wise, especially if we decide to strike quietly. We could face ambush."

And Lexa needs no more said -

"Indeed, Indra. We will send scouts. Rally your best team. They go tonight."

" _Sha_ , Heda."

" _Oso na zog raun kom trikova_." Lexa finishes. "You are all dismissed. We will decide the plan of attack after Indra's scouts return."

(We strike from the shadows.)

* * *

 

Lexa stares down at the table in front of her. A map of the surrounding land lies before her, drawn and then detailed with paint. She is not new to war. War is almost all she knows. She doesn’t find it tricky to sort a plan of attack in her head even before the scouts have left to determine Azgeda’s numbers, resources – but that anyone will agree with what she has to put forward is a different matter. She is a respected and feared fighter. She is a new and undetermined leader. War is almost all she knows. 

“Ai Hodnes.”

Lexa is caught by surprise. She feels herself jolt slightly where she stands and quickly she turns around, hand on the hilt of her weapon. Costia stands before her, proud and powerful, dressed for war.

She smiles cheekily at Lexa and saunters forward. She’s a goddess fallen – and something about her act is broken. Lexa sees it at once, how her movements don’t quite flow, don’t quite fit. Costia is rational, good at controlling herself, but she is quick to anger when you push her. She is cunning in a way most men are not, for she bites more fiercely with words than anything else. Never does she falter when it comes to her emotions. And yet here Lexa sees her fall short of everything.

 _Love is weakness_.

“And finally I have caught the great _Leksa kom Trikru_ unaware. The Commander of the eleven clans, the chosen reincarnation of all those that reigned before, wielder of blades and words, and lover of women –“

“Lover of a woman.” Lexa replies. She steps forward, away from the war map, and takes Costia in her arms, lips on lips. She feels Costia’s restraint, knows something is wrong. Her lips burn. “And I am not nearly as good with words as you.”

War is almost all Lexa knows, all else she learnt through Costia. Because Costia looks so delicate in Lexa’s arms. Her face shines with a look not joyed but happy, and not happy but content. Lexa feels it from the top of her head to the tips of her toes; how soft and kind Costia is, how her smile shimmers with a sadness not born from upset but something deeper.

War and Love – that is all she knows.

Costia’s voice is quiet when she speaks. “A _brilliant_ lover of a woman.” She says as if trying to lighten the heaviness that suddenly cloaks them. And then she is smiling crookedly, most devilishly.

“I did not plan to boast my prowess,” Lexa replies, trying to joke. She almost succeeds but she still does not know why Costia is here, truly, and it worries her, this gentle burning she feels. Her words fall flat. “But if others wish to do it for me…”

Costia’s grin widens for a moment and then all at once it is gone. Replaced with a smaller, little thing. Her lips curve upward as if trying to keep it up but it looks as if it hurts. It’s warped, battered, tired – it’s a smile that looks oddly upset. Costia trails her fingers through Lexa’s hair, down her sharp cheekbones, and finally to her lips, where her thumb runs across it.

It’s in the pit of her stomach. An ache. A burning. Something black and oozing, squirming under her skin. Lexa can feel it coming -

“I must speak to you,” is what Costia says. It has never been a good thing.

‘I must speak to you.’ Costia had said to her when they were young, when Lexa had found it too difficult to kill an animal for the first time – only a squirrel – and Costia was made to make Lexa hold a dead squirrel in her hands.

‘I must speak to you.’ Costia had said when they were teenagers, when Costia was going to go away for a while on a hunting trip and Lexa couldn’t go because of her nightblood training.

‘I must speak to you.’ Costia had said to her when Costia had begun dating some bland, foolish man far below her status.

‘I must speak to you.’ Costia had said to her when they had kissed for the first time.

Lexa says nothing. She lets herself boil in the warning.

Costia stands nervous now, so unlike herself. She grips at Lexa a little tighter than necessary. “You mustn’t be mad.” She says, and Lexa does not laugh.

 _Don’t give me a reason to be_ – Lexa wants to say.

 _Please don’t tell me_ – Lexa wants to say.

“Ai hod yu in, Costia.” She says instead. “I will try not to be.”

“Ai hod yu in.” Costia replies. “I am leading the scouting party tonight.”

Lexa feels as if she has been doused in water, rag in her mouth.

 Her muscles seize up, tight and rebellious. And Lexa only stares at Costia, still standing tall, and tries to understand. She wants to scream at her – _you idiot, you fool!_ Instead when she speaks it is only a croak of a word; she can find no more to say.

“No –“ Lexa chokes, and her head is shaking. “ _No_ –“

“Indra cannot go, and I am the best and only other scout hailing from Trigedakru who is available to lead. I must go.”

Costia’s hands are soft and comforting in her own and Lexa can only burn against them. Her voice raises without her command.

“You will not!” she says, and rips herself from Costia.

“I must!”

“You will not!” Lexa says again, harsher, fiercer, frightened. She glares at Costia and Costia glares back and it’s too like a command, “You will not, Costia! I _forbid_ it –“

“You cannot _forbid_ it! I am _needed,_ Lexa! I am the only one who can do this!”

“Not you!” Lexa yells, “Not you! You are not capable of –“

Quickly she falls silent, choked by her own words. But Costia is quick to take advantage, fierce as she is. Capable as she is.

 “Capable?!” Costia spits back. She looks so enraged; the air around her looks as if it whips in an angry hurricane; her gentle curls pushed and blown around. The candles should blow out; the tent should fall dark. It doesn’t. It feels as if it does. “Capable! I am more than capable, _Commander,_ I am the only person in this entire army who is prepared to go!”

Costia still stands, proud and ready to fight, but Lexa has lost her will. She looks away from Costia’s eyes. She will not play this childish game of power, of resilience, of command. She does not _want_ to play this game. Not with her.

“ _I cannot lose you!_ ” she cries. She straightens her back like it matters, as if she hasn’t just shown all of her cards.

But it’s all too late, this charade.

Suddenly Costia stands small again, not like the goddess she is. She looks like just a girl. They’re both just girls, foolishly in love. Costia has always been the strongest of them both, emotionally. She is better at handling feelings. Lexa simply hides them, as she has been taught. And yet, for all that Costia is: strong and ruthless and forgiving, a warrior of Trigedakru and a confidant of the Commander – she is just a woman. She is only mortal. Delicate and beautiful, easily cut and easily hurt, yes, if you can touch her. 

Lexa is so selfish. She orders a scouting party she fears will end badly because she must – and yet she is too selfish to send the one person who counts. She makes countless men sacrifice themselves and yet she would rather them all die than Costia. She is so selfish.

“Lexa,” Costia begins, now quiet. “Lexa. Ai Hodnes. Look at me.”

Lexa stares at the floor. The grass beneath her feet is trampled and looks half dead. Her sight is blurred and wet. When she looks up her Costia stands before her like a beacon of all she has wanted, a sight to follow and marvel in the darkness. She follows it. She always has.

_Love is weakness._

“Lexa, remember what I said to you on your balcony all those nights ago. I will not leave you; she will not have me.”

“This scouting is more dangerous than any battle.” Lexa says. It does not sound like her. Her voice is small. It’s trembling. It’s fragile and its sounds old and none of it is Lexa and all of it is Love – “I cannot lose you.”

“My Love.” Costia grabs her tightly and pushes them together. Lexa cannot help it – she succumbs. Greedily, pathetically, lovingly – she succumbs. She presses her face into the base of Costia’s neck and shoulder, and deeply she breathes. Costia smells of beauty. She smells of grass and the chirping of crickets in the warm night air. She smells of the sea and juniper berries and their bed as they lie in it together and whole. She is so warm. So painfully alive.

“Please return to me,” Lexa whispers. She hears her tears. Feels them coating Costia’s hair, neck, shoulder. She cannot stop them from falling. It is weakness.

A hand strokes the back of Lexa’s head. “I promise.” Costia says.

Lexa knows better than to believe it. Still she does.

War and Love are all she knows.

* * *

 

“Show me." 

Lexa’s voice does not waver. Her hands are sweating, shaking, linked behind her back, hidden from view. Her pose is strong and steady and confident and everything she needs it to be but nothing that it wants to be.

She stands in front of an Azgeda warrior. Now prisoner. They are male. They are bald. They are knelt down, hands shoved onto the dirty ground in Lexa’s tent. They are sat next to a sack so bloodied its original colour is indistinguishable.

There’s a sting in her eyes and an aching in her soul. There’s a man knelt in front of her with a sadistic smile on his face. There are two legs she cannot feel, and two men who stand either side of the prisoner, staring at her just a little too hard.

There’s a sack on the floor covered in blood.

One of the warriors picks it up in his large, dirty hands.

There’s a pounding in her heart. Glass through her veins. Glass through her veins.

Carelessly though not without tact, he opens it. Stares in.

“Heda –“ Titus begins. He stands next to her.

 Lexa shoots her hand into the air. He falls silent.

“Show me.” She says again.

The warrior pulls her out by her hair. Her delicate, intricate, soft curls. Bloodied and dried, stuck together. No brown – only red. Her eyes are closed. Her olive skin is matte with all of the blood. Hers and others. Her face is so neutral. It lacks all emotion. It’s the first time her face has ever looked so bare and yet it is covered in blood. There’s only a head. Nothing else.

The prisoner stares at Lexa; his grin is malicious. The room is silent.

Lexa stares at Costia. Her body does not feel like her own; it’s numb and weak, entirely useless. Still she stands. Still she stares.

“Kill him.” She says. Her voice does not waver.

The warriors say nothing. Head shoved back into the bag. Bag put on the table. Prisoner taken outside to die.

They’re all gone, except for Titus.

And when they are gone she is hopeless to stop it - she stumbles backwards as if physically stuck, hit suddenly with thoughts and feelings and pain that come all too quickly.

There’s glass in her veins. Knives in her throat. Pins in her eyes. Bullet through her skull. She's hunched over, fighting and dying to a creature that she herself made and nurtured. There's nothing there.

Titus stands in front of her and he looks so tall and straight and together - and Lexa cannot stand.

“I am sorry.” He begins. Lexa knows he means it.

He looms above and beyond her like the tower of Polis. Regal and poised. But he lacks the might he should have; he's worn and chipped. Lacking the fury and the beauty and the grace that Polis stands for and instead he stands grieving for the misconceptions of Lexa's own failing like she even deserves it.

He is too much for her. It’s all too much for her.

He should feel smug, she thinks. He should feel justified. He stares at her with eyes burning with pity and she hates it all.

He was right, after all.

 He was right, he was right – he was _alway_ s right. And yet his face is warped in agony. His lips are curved down into a frown. Filled with sadness, empathy. Filled with all the warning he had tried to give her. That she did not listen to. That, blinded, she ignored.

There’s an aching in her chest. There’s glass through her veins.

There’s her _head_ on the table littered with blood.

“Now you see.” Titus sounds tired. “You loved her, and she was targeted because of it. She loved you, and so she died so you would suffer. And now you are weak and you will be exploited.”

Lexa stays slumped in her throne. This is her prime. It has what she has worked for – killed and bled for. This is what she has stayed up late at night talking to Costia about. Planning. Laughing. Scheming. Dreaming of all that they could achieve together. This throne that she sits in. Peace with a clan that delivered her lover’s head.

Lexa’s head lies heavy in her hands. Her eyes are snapped open. Her tears streak her face with the war paint she wears – the black stains her.

Lexa is weak and will be exploited.

Viciously she wipes at her face. Her hands are coated in black. She stares down at them, her vision blurry. It’s so numb. Love – it was so warm, so alive. Her chest was light and fluffy. She wallows in it now, in love. Lexa’s left with all of it, all of it that had built over the years and years she has known Costia, and now she’s just left with it.

She’s never felt so lonely.

Titus seems to understand. He kneels in front of her, keeps his distance. Lexa feels as if she will explode.

There’s glass in her veins and a head on her table.

“You are my commander.” He says, quietly. He weighs his words. He doesn’t weigh them at all. “You are strong. You are _Leksa kom Trikru_ and you have a vision none before have attempted. You will achieve peace, and I will stand with you to see you achieve it. You are _Leksa kom Trikru,_ and you will not give Azgeda what they want.

“You are the commander.” He says. “You must remember what she died for. You must remember who you are, Lexa. Love is not made for those destined for greatness.”

The vision she formed – half of it belongs to the woman whose head lies on her table. Her Costia, her Only.

Costia is dead. It is Lexa’s fault for loving her.

"You must stand." Titus continues. His voice is loud but it is not strong. "You must cover this pain with blood and war. You are Heda. You are made for sacrifice. Love is just another foe - you must mask your true feelings from it, stand strong."

But Lexa cannot stand. Costia had always told her that emotions have to be embraced or one day you would surely crumble under them. Lexa had embraced Love - she had embraced it even when her elders told her not to. Advised her against it.

And now, instead of standing strong and proud in front of the army she commands like the Heda she is and must be, she sits sobbing like a child, a breathless ache pounding in her chest. Just like Azgeda want her to be.

Lexa slumps back. She meets the hard wood of her throne and hopelessly she collapses into it. Her throat burns, holding back the tears. Why does she hold them now? Everything has already been taken from her, why does she not let herself feel if it is impossible – _useless_ – to contain it all?

Maybe that was the problem, why she has failed so drastically. She was too open, too obvious with her emotions and now Costia is dead and Lexa is weak and everything has snapped in but a moment -

Titus has always tried to warn her.

_Love is weakness._

Finally she heeds it.

The deep rasping in her chest is swallowed and left to rot and decay inside of her, and when she pushes herself to her feet and takes a deep, calming breath, and swats her tears away, she pretends that the smell of the warm night air does not bring tears to her eyes, and that the starry sky above her is not streaked in red.

“Love is weakness.” She says to Titus, and she takes a step forward.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed. I'd love to know what you thought so I can keep you guys in mind if I finally get around to writing the Clarke/Lexa portion of this. 
> 
> If there are any mistakes you spot - mistypes or spelling errors or such - do let me know! I can only spot so much as my own proof-reader :P


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